Shadow of Conspiracy
by Superguy-In-Tights
Summary: Can Agent Cordell and Zioa stop a government conspiracy containing Beyblade Battlers? Plz R
1. In the Beginning

The room was dark. Zioa felt around the four walls. They were bare. The touch of slight bumps on the wall felt better than the itchy ropes and blood he had felt only about an hour ago. He snorted in disgust, as he felt for a light switch, or light bulb, but found none. On top of this, there were no windows in this cell, which could have pleased him only a little in his current state, and condition. He put his ear to the rough wood door. He could hear the small chatter of the guards, making small talk as they waited to be relieved. Zioa had no memory of outside of the cell, as he had just awaken from his slumber, apparently knocked unconscious by one of the guards. Maybe out of boredom, or anger, he slammed his fist hard upon the great door. Again and again he pounded it. Each time wincing as he felt the sharp prick of pain on his fresh cut, he kept at it. Finally, someone came to the door. "SHUTTUP IN THERE!" The guard screamed at Zioa through the heavy door. Defeated, Zioa slumped to the floor, cradling his injured hand. Finally, after some time, he drifted off to a short, and restless sleep.  
  
After what Zioa guessed to be around two hours, a click in the door was heard, and then a creak as it was opened. A large, burly man entered the room. Before Zioa could rise to his feet and address this newcomer, he was jerked up by his arm and dragged towards the open door. He raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the bright, bare light coming from the ceiling. He stumbled along for a great while until he reached a more decadent part of the complex, or so he guessed it was. He was thrown upon a Persian rug, in front of a large oak, stained desk. Crouching on all fours, he did not raise his head as he was addressed. "Get up boy!" He heard a strong, deep voice call to him. But he did not do any such thing. He was flatly kicked hard in the side of his stomach. He slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. There was an impatient tension in the air as he was dragged to his feet. His eyes immediately fell on a tall, Asian man sat, fingers laced, elbows on the table, looking slightly annoyed at Zioa's incompetence. Good, he thought. Just the thought of being captured and tied up in a small boat house made his blood boil with hatred. Why had they taken him? And for what greater purpose? He constantly questioned himself over and over, not taking in a word that the tall man at the desk was saying. Zioa took a moment to search around the room. On all walls but the windows, there were great, oak book shelves. They seemed to match the desk quite well, and Zioa thought it was such a nice, expensive set, for such a seemingly sinister man. Something hard, and with a sharp edge to it, hit him in the left cheek. He stroked his red cheek, before looking around to see what had hit him. There it lay, a small, black Beyblade. It's edges were sharp, but in a curving matter. It reminded him of the ones that he saw on t.v. What was the kid's name again? Rei was it? Yes well, whatever that one kid's name was, Zioa's mind instantly went to his blade, and the comparison was almost exactly the same. "You are to begin training immediately." As soon as the Asian man had finished speaking, the large burly man once again struck him upon the neck. He could not remember much from that meeting, except for the way the Asian man had looked at him. 


	2. The Cloaked Culprit

"YOU CALL THIS A FILE!" Shouted FBI Agent Cordell. "I can't stand the way you people work around here!" Agent Cordell screamed, circling the dimly lit, musty, cramped office room of the intern Josh. "I ask for a full background check on the missing kid and all you can give me is his name and address?!"  
A short, boy no older than 16 sat in an old office swivel chair, quite frightened of his superior officer in such a state. He pushed his slightly tattered glasses back up his nose before replying.  
"You did not specify on what information you would like to have gathered, therefore-" But he could not finish, for Agent Cordell was on a temper, and you never contradict and Agent with a temper without getting hurt.  
"Did I ask you of your opinion?" The blank, worried look on Josh's face was all she needed. "Fine. You have two hours to get me a full background check on this Zioa kid, or your job is history."  
"Y-y-y-yes ma'am." He replied shakily, before turning to his computer and typing quickly on his keyboard.  
Agent Cordell strode out of the office, still a little red in the face from the yelling, but otherwise normal. As she strolled down the shabby blue carpeted hallway of the police station, she nodded to people in similar but much larger offices. They were all sweating and hot, hunched over their computer keyboards. Even Agent Cordell, who never minded the warm weather, cursed the heat under her breath. She also cursed the stupid air conditioner, that had to break in the heat wave of the century.  
Finally, she reached the end of the hallway, and pushed open the "staff only" doors into the main "reception room" of sorts. If you could really call it that. With the heat wave striking harder than ever, and the air conditioner broken, they kept what blinds that weren't torn closed, so the main room was always dark.  
What once was a smooth, fake marble curved desk, was now covered completely with coffee mugs and documents. The floor was dusty, and sticky in spots where people had spilled their morning coffee some time ago. It was all together a pretty dismal place for a workplace, and most of the workers dreaded their arrival each new day to this stink hole. Agent Cordell nodded to the receptionists before exiting through the double doors.  
Out into the hot sun she went, walking briskly into the underground police station parking lot. She stood there for a moment, contemplating whether or not to take a police car to her destination or not.  
She thought it best not to. Best not risk it, this is a shady place you're going to after all, she thought. Walking up to a small, four-door sedan, she took out her keys and quickly pulled the right one. Inserting it into the lock, and climbing in, she reviewed her orders in the back of her mind.  
"Check out this location." Her manager had said as he handed her an address of a local underground complex. She pulled out the very same paper, and reviewed the address.  
Turning the key and revving the engine, she drove out of the parking lot and back into the hot sun.  
  
After some frustrating turning around and around, searching for the way to get to the underground parking lot provided for the complex, she drove into in a rush. A small, rather fat man sat at the booth seat, and barely looked up at her through his dark glasses.  
"Fee's 5 bucks ma'am." He said in a rather annoyed, bored tone.  
Agent Cordell fished around the glove compartment for the money the police station provided the under-cover policemen. Grasping a five-dollar bill, she hastily handed it to him, and sped through the gate as soon as it was open.  
She found it odd to find so many parking spaces taken, as it was only some sort of Beyblade tournament. But, none the less, she finally found an open spot, and drove into it. Quickly, she walked to the elevator, and pressed the bottom floor button over, and over again, until it finally began moving.  
When she reached the bottom floor, and stepped out, she was immediately thrown into a busy throng of many teenagers and adults alike, as they hastily made their way to the entrance to the stadium. Agent Cordell searched the area for a ticket booth, fishing out a twenty-dollar bill to pay for the ticket. Noticing one, she quickly, which wasn't very fast in the vast sea of people, toward the ticket booth.  
Flashing her badge to several people in line, she reached the front and bought a ticket, commenting only momentarily on the high price as she fished out the extra money. After buying her admittance, she went to the entrance, and handed another, short, fat man her ticket, and entered the stadium.  
What she saw shocked her. Several thousand people, all screaming their lungs out, sat around a central bowl, as Agent Cordell thought of it, which was really the Beystadium. She climbed to her seat, and plopped down, looking bored as she searched the crowd for anyone suspicious looking. Cautiously, she but her hand on the butt of her gun, hoping that she wouldn't have to use it.  
There was a great uproar of joy as some people in extravagant, and in the eyes of Agent Cordell, silly costumes. She couldn't help giggling at the funny state of the combatants as she watched them walk up to their side of the stadium. One from each side of the stadium walked up to the center of the ring, awaiting the announcer to count down to the beginning of the battle.  
Suddenly, as if by answer, the announcer boomed on to the loud speakers.  
"All right ladies and gents, welcome to the Beyblade Underground Competition. This is round one of the tournament. Be sure to come back tomorrow for the second round! Let's Begin! First, we have Poto of the Country Team!" The crowd cheered immensely. Agent Cordell noticed that the boy on the left. He was wearing a pair of over-all's, and a straw hat. Stereotype right down to the way he acted, spoke, and looked. "And, on for the Suburban Team, is Jason Ramirez." This person was slightly different. He wore a tattered Baseball cap, which was normal in the eyes of Agent Cordell, but his shoes and shirt were quite a different story. He wore little elf shoes, with the toe curled up. His shirt was shiny green and pink and blue. Agent Cordell couldn't help laughing at the colorful combatants.  
Both Bladers clutched their launchers, ready for he count down. Finally, after a much dragged out countdown, they began. Agent Cordell found the competition serious, in spite of the funny costumes. She may have even ventured it exciting, before collecting herself.  
Remembering the one, and only reason she was here, she looked around the stadium again. Once again, she found nothing but hysterical fans cheering on their favorite competitor. Finally, as the battle began to wind down, and the winner of this battle was clear, a shot rang out through the air. Many fans crouched down, and people cried out in alarm.  
But, Agent Cordell was composed and ready. Noticing that the gunshot had hit one of the combatants Beyblade's, the winner's, she still feared the danger of the combatants she ordered them to get down under something until she check things out. She leapt onto the competition floor.  
Whipping out her pistol, she searched the upper rafters and booths for celebrities and such, but found nothing. She hopped down into the dish in which the Beyblades had battled. She noticed that the point of entry had come from an angle upward. She looked toward and saw a man in a black cloak take aim straight at her. The crowd gasped as they noticed that she had pulled out another gun, obviously suspecting that she was the culprit who had shot at the Beybladers.  
Quickly, Agent Cordell pointed her pistol at the position and fired three shots. She did not hit the culprit, but saw him flee into an upper exit leading to the stairs. Agent Cordell bolted for the exit door. Reaching it, she threw it open in a hurry, flashing her badge to the security guards as they called out for her to go back to her seat.  
Bounding up the concrete stairs, she reached the top floor, and flung the double doors open. She looked straight into the black mask of the culprit who had fired the shot at the stadium. He was tall. Taller than she was. And much more muscular. He seemed to chuckle at the sight of her astonished expression.  
Before he could act, she brought the butt of her handgun down hard onto the top of the cloaked man's head. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. Quickly, she cuffed the man and tore off his black mask. What she saw made her gasp. 


	3. First Encounter

Zioa awoke on a bamboo mat. What had awoken him he did not know, but it sure was noisy.  
He was in a Dojo type construct. It was all smooth wood, and many people stood around the Beystadiums, placed in the floor. They all stood around these great dishes, launching their black Beyblades into their respective stadiums over, and over again. One winning, and the other switching out so a new combatant could go up to bat, and try their luck.  
He rose to his feet. Something dropped from his pocket. It was the same black Beyblade that had been thrown at him. Rubbing his still sore jaw, Zioa looked around. He walked up to the nearest Beystadium, and watched for a couple rounds as people in all black martial arts clothing launched their Beyblades in and called out to them.  
This was something Zioa found odd. They were calling out to their spinning blades, and they would follow the directions pointed out to them by their owners. Zioa found this amazing and quickly got in line to see if it would follow his orders.  
Zioa finally reached the front of the line, and stepped up. He had watched enough to know how to launch like most of them, and knew basic commands to order his Beyblade around. Here it was. The moment where he would either make a fool of himself, or triumph. Either way, he was hooked on the sport already, and found it infatuating.  
His opponent was a large, rather fat kid whose eyes glazed over at the prospect of battling a new person on the scene. He smirked as he watched Zioa fumble around with the launcher he had borrowed, until it was right.  
The fat boy called out. "Three......Two......One......LET IT RIP!" He yelled as both Zioa and the boy launched their black Beyblades into the stadium.  
The boy immediately went into action. He ordered his Beyblade to evade until a subtle time to attack, then strike with full force. A very blatant and obvious strategy, thought Zioa. Fine, he was going to counter it.  
"Outs-pin your opponent, he will take too much time evading and when he attacks, get close to the wall and move out of his way." This strategy, was further thought out than his opponents, and soon the battle was over. He had easily dodged his opponent's Beyblade, and sent it careening out of the stadium, using it's own momentum.  
The fat boy looked astonished has his blade flew from the stadium. He was speechless as he picked it up and went to the back of the line. For some time, Zioa was battling with opponent after opponent, winning each time.  
It was well past 5 when he was finally defeated by luck alone. Zioa was tired, and so he went back to his mat to fall asleep for a while until the mess hall would open for dinner.  
  
He was roughly awoken by own of the other captured people, or so Zioa figured the boy was. He followed him to a school cafeteria. This was odd. It seemed to be have moved from an actual school, into the underground facility where Zioa was put.  
He sat at long tables, and the food was already presented. There, on a paper plate was three separate things. A large plop of mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, and finally a long chocolate chip cookie on the side.  
Hungry, he wolfed it down without a word, his head hung low over the plate. After he had finished and wiped his face with a napkin, he didn't even inspect the cafeteria itself. He didn't much care anymore. Nothing much else mattered to him besides Beyblading, and freeing himself from this silver lined prison. 


End file.
